To Know
by wanderinggypsyfeet
Summary: To know is to perceive or understand as fact or truth; to apprehend clearly and with certainty; or to be cognizant or aware of. In which Brienne finally knows her Lady Sansa Stark, and Sansa knows that even when the world seems filled with darkness, there can always be light. A post 7x07 oneshot, where upon reuniting at Winterfell, a new world is built.


**AN:** Ok, here's the next part, because I have no self control... And I got an awesome review that totally spurred this on, so prepare for another chapter! Ok, without further ado, my two favorite characters...

* * *

 **Brienne**

"My lady, are you sure?" Brienne asks, for what must the hundredth time that evening. If Sansa wasn't so wonderfully tempered, she might have shouted, and glared. Instead, she simply gives Brienne another one of her sweet smiles and reassures her.

"Yes, thank you. I'm quite sure."

"But," Brienne can't stop herself from speaking again. "If he's forcing you, in any way—"

"He's not." Sansa says flatly, allowing just a hint of her impatience to show. "He is absolutely not."

"I just…" Brienne struggles to get the right words out, ones that won't insult her lady but will convey the magnitude of what Sansa is about to do.

"I know." Sansa turns around, giving Brienne a soft smile as she finishes a braid. "I know, Brienne, I know you think he's got to be threatening me into this, holding something over my head, because I would never marry him of my own free will. But I am, I promise. I love him."

"He's the Hound!" Brienne bursts. "He's… He's… Monstrous!"

"He is not the Hound anymore." Sansa states firmly and Brienne falls silent. Sansa continues to get ready in the silence, as dusk fast turns to night outside her window.

"I am charged with keeping you safe." Brienne has to make one last protest, before the sun sets fully, and Sansa will be off to marry Sandor Clegane. Sansa very primly folds her hands into her lap and turns to Brienne with an expectant look. "And I fear that may include keeping you safe from yourself. Please accept my counsel Lady Stark and hear me."

"Of course." Sansa calmly awaits her words and Brienne hesitates for a long moment, before spilling out her fears.

"He is not a good man, my lady, and I know you think he might be, but he's not. And he may not seem to want your land or your titles, but how can you know that, my lady? How can you be sure that he's going to be good to you? Are you not scared of how he may treat you? The things he might do? How can you not be horrified by the things he's done in the past? How, my lady, how can you trust a man like him? How can you willingly marry him?"

She ends her rant with a little gasp, sure she's spoken out of turn. But Sansa isn't angry, but rather thoughtful, sitting in her chair, apparently lost in thought for a long few moments. Then she turns and looks out at the horizon, where the sun is fast sinking.

"Brienne." She turns back to her and rises, taking her hands. Brienne is slightly taken aback, but looks down at Sansa with a surprised expression. "I am in love with Sandor Clegane. I have been, for as long as I can remember. It took me a long time to figure it out, I can tell you that. And we very nearly didn't get the chance to do anything about it. But Brienne, I cannot let him slip through my fingers.

"He only ever protected me, from Joffrey and the rest of the horrors there. He would've protected me from Littlefinger and Ramsey and all else, if he could. He is honest, and true, and I don't think there are any like him in the world. His past doesn't scare me, and mine doesn't revolt him. I trust him Brienne, I trust him more than anything. He's only ever good and honest and true."

"How can you marry him?" Brienne asks her, searching Sansa's face for any sign of distress, any hint that Sansa is uneasy in what she's about to do. But instead, Sansa is beaming, glowing as though she's been softly lit from within.

"Because he is my true knight." Sansa seems to be amused by that. "And I'm his fair maiden, and we'll have songs sung about us." With that, with a smile and a shake of her head, Sansa rises.

"Alright." Brienne has to defer to her lady, but she still grabs Oathkeeper and straps it onto her. She's still not convinced that she won't have to fight him once more.

Sansa leads her downstairs, where Jon is waiting for her in the hall. Brienne tries not to hover, but every instinct in her is screaming to take Sansa and run, run far away from whatever sway Sandor Clegane seems to hold over her. But Sansa remains calm and serene, smiling at Jon, who beams back at her.

"You look… Stunning." He tells her, smiling tenderly as Sansa smoothes out her grey dress. The Stark cloak, on her back with a massive direwolf, contrasts with her hair.

"It's almost night. We should head to the godswood." Sansa looks nearly giddy, and occasionally her calm mask with lapse and show her excitement.

"Are you sure?" Jon asks her lowly and Sansa looks between him and Brienne, her eyes betraying her annoyance.

"Yes, now do I have to march myself there, or will you come with me?"

"Alright." Jon takes her arm and glances at Brienne, who gives him a firm nod. She's ready to see this ended, at any point, should Sansa will it.

They depart to the godswood, and though the air outside is cold, there is no biting wind, and under their thick cloaks, it could almost be described as nice. Sansa keeps her head up and keeps her steps even, and she's followed by Brienne. When they enter and finally see the crowd that has gathered, Brienne's fingers itch to grab her sword.

For the most part, only a few are gathered beneath the blood red leaves. Dany, Arya, Bran, Davos, and Sandor Clegane await them. A few lords linger behind Davos, but Brienne is focused on Sansa and that direwolf cloak. Then she glances up and sees Clegane's face.

Tears are running down his face, unchecked, and Brienne nearly stumbles. Arya looks torn between disbelief and amusement, glancing repeatedly at his tears and then back to her sister. Brienne can't comprehend why on earth he would be crying, until she sees the look that passes between Sansa and Sandor and then she knows.

She knows that they are in love, pure and true, as Clegane steps forward and comes to claim her, his eyes never once leaving her face. Sansa is crying too then, beaming and crying all at once, as her sweet voice utters that she will take him. They are in love, and Sansa goes to him, and when he swings his cloak over her with a kiss to her head he seemingly can't resist and their hands are bound by a ribbon, Sansa has never looked so young and so happy.

And Clegane himself even repeats the words of the Seven, something Brienne never imagined he'd do. He does it willingly, in a ceremony that combines the old gods and the new, under the night sky in the dead of winter. He does it, with his eyes locked on Sansa, as though he half expects her to run. Brienne is sure they all expect her to run.

But when it comes time to kiss, Sansa reaches up and takes his face gently in her hands, and he tenderly slips a hand into her hair, bringing his lips to hers. For a second, the world is suspended in time, narrowed down to this moment, where the two of them kiss, now married, and Brienne finds herself holding back a tear of her own, when Sansa breaks apart and looks up at him with such absolute devotion, Brienne knows.

They're in love. They've been in love, and when he very gently takes her hand and leads her away from the tree, back towards the hall where a small feast awaits them. Brienne follows, and wryly admits that she may not need to protect Sansa Stark from anyone anymore.

* * *

 **Sansa**

The long walk across the courtyard to the godswood is cold on a good day, and freezing on the worst day. But today isn't a bad day, and so Sansa only once feels like she's going to lose a finger or toe on the walk. Once she's in the godswood, she heads for the weirwood tree, a slight smile on her face.

She feels only a little alone here, without her siblings. This is where they'd last all been together, for her wedding. The thought makes her smile, and she reaches out to touch the white bark, trailing her fingers over the carved faces. Her wedding, the peak of her happiness, before the real world had swooped back in and took them all from her.

Jon had gone north, and taken her husband with him. Sandor had protested it, mightily, but it was universally known now that he could scry in the flames, and without Thoros, they needed him. Sansa had cried, of course, when he'd ridden out, because she loved him and she knew she would miss him, but he had to go.

She hadn't been prepared for Bran's departure, with Tyrion. She'd wanted to scream at that one, as Dany's sweet advisor explained that Jon and Dany felt it was necessary for the boy to go south, to seek out the weirwood that could be the key to defeating the Night King. Tyrion had volunteered to go with him, and to Sansa's bewilderment, the arrival of Jamie Lannister and Bronn of the Blackwater had spurred their departure. She'd been sad, then furious, then resigned to the fact her siblings were once again lost to the winds.

She hadn't been surprised then, when she'd gone back to her solar and had seen a piece of paper stuck to her embroidery, stabbed through with her sewing needle. She'd known then, rather amusingly, who would do such a thing.

She had picked up the note and she knew what it would say even before she'd read it. She'd know Arya's scrawl anywhere, after all those years of tsk-ing over it and shaking her head. She had read it and been surprised her heart could still break, just a little bit. She'd just gotten her family back, and now they were all scattered again. It wasn't fair, but still she read.

 _For Father._  
 _For Yoren._  
 _For Syrio._

On and on the list of names went, until she got to the last one, that'd been seemingly added as a sort of afterthought.

 _For Lady._

The list of dead that Arya held Cersei responsible for. It was her justification, Sansa had realized then. It was why she did what she did. She was going to go kill Cersei for the people on this list, like she'd killed Littlefinger for his crimes against their mother, and father, and Sansa. Arya was gone to kill the queen.

So now Sansa sits in the godswood, alone, lost in quiet contemplation. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and she gladly takes up the mantle. But she wishes she wasn't so alone.

Not alone, truly. Pod is hovering near the entrance, with his sweet smile. With Brienne training, and occasionally venturing off to the battle lines, he often steps in to guard her and Sansa has become fond of him. And of course, she has her subjects to take care of, and so many more. But she misses her husband.

She sits down on the bench and holds her cloak tighter, thinking about him, trying to draw his face in her minds eyes. His eyes, how they sparkle when he's amused. The feeling of his broad shoulders, when he pulls her into his arms. How warm he is, constantly, and how his lips feel when he kisses her. She tries to preserve these moments, keep them close to keep her warm.

The ravens come, infrequently. Short missives, usually in Jon's chicken scratch, to give her orders. To update her, to assure her of things. And always, always at the end he puts the names of those they've lost. And every raven she sees, she ignores the orders or the updates, and searches that list for her husband's name, and cries every time she doesn't see it.

They need Bran's insight, his orders on how to kill Night King, but for now they're busy burning the army, trying to prevent them from nearing the living. The evacuation continues, and Sansa oversees it, and she has everything she ever could've dreamed for herself when she was a little girl.

And more, she thinks, with a small, secret smile. She never could've dreamed of being where she is. Married to a man that most people only saw as a monster. Ruling Winterfell, trying at every turn to emulate both her lord father and lady mother. And now, she knows something even more special and strange and odd that a young Sansa never could've dreamed.

Her hand travels to her still flat belly, and wonders what it will be like to have it large and swollen, feeling the life move around in her. She looks at the carved face in the tree, and even though she once said, long ago, that she didn't pray, she does today.

 _Thank you,_ she intones. _Thank you for my life, thank you for my husband. Thank you for the chance at happiness you've given us, and for this blessing. Thank you, and please, give my husband the chance to meet this child. Give him the chance to know this baby, and give us the chance to raise it in a better world._

It seems so strange to her, she reflects. That in the midst of everything, life keeps moving forward, as unstoppable as the Titan. The seasons change, the world goes on, and she is with a child. She can scarcely believe it, but she knows. The maester has confirmed it, when she went to check for another raven from Jon, but she's known, since their wedding night. That this would be his gift to her, before he left, and it will be her gift to return when he comes back to her.

She holds a firm hand to her belly, and turns from talking to the gods to talking to her child now. _Thank you,_ she tells the small thing that is no more than a hope and a prayer and so much love. _Thank you for coming, for allowing me to know you. You'll know your father soon, I promise._

 _You'll know that he is a good man, and maybe the best in all the lands. You'll know he is kind when he may be and fierce when he needs to. He's wonderful, and you won't be scared of the scars. You'll see, like me, how they've made him strong, and that makes him handsome._

 _You'll be raised amongst love, little thing, just like I was. He will love you, and I will love you, and you will have two parents who will do anything for you. We already are, and that's why he's not here. He's already protecting you, and he's not even sure who you are yet._

She stands, knowing that soon she'll have to grant audiences to everyone. She still feels a little queasy, from both the news and the sickness from the baby, but the flickering ball of light, her happiness that had first been lit upon seeing Sandor in the courtyard and has now grown into a bonfire, keeps her light on her feet.

"My lady." Pod bows when she joins him at the gate, and she smiles when she takes his arm to keep her steady over the snow and ice. They are almost back to the hall, when he says quietly, "Would you like for me to send for the kitchen maids to bring you some ginger tea? I've heard it helps."

"Helps what?" Sansa looks at him in surprise and he gives her a little smile.

"You know, my lady."

"I do." Sansa stares at him in astonishment. "How do you?"

"Not sure, my lady." He shrugs, still with that little smile. "I just do."

"You're a man of mysteries." Sansa looks at him with frank fondness and he blushes, pausing in front of the door to the hall, waiting her orders. "For the tea, then, please."

"Of course." With a smile and a nod, he disappears. Sansa takes a deep breath and let's her fingers flutter down to her stomach, just once more. Just a reminder of what's growing there. Half her, half Sandor.

All love.

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 **AN:** Sorry that is totally shameless SanSan fluff, but you have to create your own happiness sometimes. Guys, reviews are amazing and so appreciated, but I've got an important poll to take, and I hope you reply back- I have two SanSan stories in the mix- a long form post 7x07 fic based on the show, and a long form modern AU. I'm trying to finish both, but I need to devote my time and attention to one primarily. Which would you rather I start posting first? Leave a review with your thoughts! Thanks for reading!


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